


Daughter of the Suns

by GtG



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Always another gender, Anakin is freaking out, BAMF Twinsies, Death, Decapitation, Did Padmé just pass-out, Dismemberment, F/F, F/M, Fialleril's Tatooinian Slave Culture, Flashbacks, I pick and choose what happens, It's called being picky, Leia is about to change the galaxy, Leia is still a girl, Long rambly paragraphs, Luke is about to PWN the Jedi Order, Luke is now a girl, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, Past non-consensual drug use, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prepare yourself for the tags, Skywalker Family Drama, Slavery, Someone get Leia a psychiatrist, THEY ARE HERE TO HELP OKAY, They are here to help, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Torture, What is a time paradox?, Where is Obi-Wan, Why is Luke always hiding in the rafters, also adding Alderaanian culture, enslavement, genderbent, never heard of her, not much research to be done, rule!63, this is gonna be a long ride, this is important
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 18:44:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11214003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GtG/pseuds/GtG
Summary: They are thrown back in time and the Galaxy trembles.Or: the Force provides the Chosen Ones an indeterminate amount of chances to fix a mistake.





	Daughter of the Suns

**Author's Note:**

> Absolutely inspired by [Fialleril](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fialleril/pseuds/Fialleril)’s Tatooinian slave-culture that is now headcanon. 
> 
> Also inspired by:  
> sparklight’s [Where Our Intrepid Hero Doesn’t Get Away](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4837094/chapters/11078918)  
> Airel_Sojourner’s [Back From the Future: Episode VI The Clone Wars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10129274/chapters/22524422)  
> scarletjedi’s [Old Man Luke](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8825689/chapters/20234725)  
> obeyingthemuse’s [Ad Utrumque Paratus](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168628/chapters/16273712)  
> CWBasset’s [Shattered](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5008174/1/Shattered) over on fanfiction.net  
> Scamasax’s [The Pathway](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11504716/1/The-Pathway) also over on fanfiction.net
> 
> I’m a sucker for time-traveling fics. Basically I read all of these and was like “Wouldn’t it be cool…”
> 
> Probably not.
> 
> I always found it weird that everyone spoke American-English in the OT and PT (and some in the ST) films but whatyagunnado with George Lucas. Eh… dark!Luke shit ahead so mind yaself. 
> 
> Like **really** dark. 
> 
> Also drunk-me is rambly-me, so paragraphs ahoy!

If Leia was the roar of a krayt dragon, then Luké was its maw.

They were the twin suns of Tatooine except _not_ , because only the Sons of the Suns were born with their blessings. Aunt Beru had always said she was a Daughter of the Moons: the wisp of moonlight and the breath of cool air on a weary traveler’s skin. Luké had always preened, smiling under her _Mi-ti’s_ whispers: 

“ _Which moon?_ ” Luké would ask, the dimples in her cheeks betraying a hidden smile.

Beru’s bony fingers would tuck a lock of wild blonde hair behind her ears, “Amakuuna,” she’d say, “ _the Mother’s promise. Find her in your heart, my_ Títam _, and you will find your song of peace_.”

Except she couldn’t.

The clear blue sky of Tatooine held too much promise. _Come to us_ , the suns would sing, _just reach and fly!_ And on days when Luké’s skin was a dark brown and her hair as pale as the sand, Aunt Beru would stroke her head and smile.

“ _You are a Skywalker_.” She had said, “ _Your eyes are blue because the sky has found a worthy champion — always looking up_.”

Luké had smiled every time.

There was the sound of a whip, a _crack_ , and Luké flinched badly. The pain did not come — it was not meant for her — and so the resulting shriek was not hers. A young female Weequay was chained to a stone post, sobbing into her hands. She was dressed in dark, almost black ribbons that shone like plasteel in the suns. Some trailed on the ground where they had broken loose, their bloodied ends gathering clumps of sand.

The words of her _Depur_ did not matter; they never did. It was the same, as always — and if not the same, then always angry. Dressed in gauzy white, with white ribbons plaiting through her long hair, the human woman was the _retha-Depur_ : the Pleasure Master of Mos Eisley.

Another crack of the whip, another spray of blood, and Luké felt the Force rush under her palms in a buoyant high.

_It would be so easy to break the woman’s neck_. Luké could see the possibility happening — could feel the heavy _snap_ the Force would broadcast under her fingers, the satisfying slump of the _Depur_ 's body. The woman’s putrid aura would fade under her hands, like it had once before. Satisfaction pooled into her heart as she imagined the wind burying this monster in hot sand.

_It_ would _be_ , she thought, closing her eyes. Before the possibility had a chance to settle, she was assaulted with memories of a bloody knife and claws.

Wait. Hadn’t she killed Madame Boj’wani many years ago? Luké was suddenly aware of a sharp ringing in her ears, a white noise she hadn’t noticed up until now. Was this a vision, a test of her morality — of her progress? Her first kill ( _murder!_ some long-dormant part of her hissed) had been full of vengeance and fury, of self-righteousness and pain. The Dark side had lounged comfortably in her heart as she’d howled with rage to the goddesses.

Master Yoda had called her an angry little girl. Just like her father.

How had Ben convinced him otherwise?

Opening her eyes, Luké sneered and watched the spectacle in what felt like an echoing haze. The Weequay woman’s back was a raw mess, her screams of agony long since ignored. What was normally a sympathetic affair — _avert your eyes, respect your fellow slave_ — had now drawn a tumultuous crowd. Some wore collars of their own. Most wore frowns.

It was because of the _Depur_. Madame Boj’wani was known to be a cruel mistress, a slave herself to Jabba the Hutt as well as his personal _retha_. A slave owning slaves was an abhorrent crime on Tatooine, both illegal and risky. Had she not culled the Hutt’s favor many years before, Madame Boj’wani’s life would have likely ended on behalf of the Ancient Grandmothers.

Instead, she’d been stabbed by her youngest slave, once for each of the goddess moons, and the feel of a dull kitchen knife popping through flesh wasn't one Luké would ever forget. She had justified her actions: the might of _Amakuuna_ swelled inside of her, and she would see the death of every _Depur_ on Tatooine to unleash it! It was her right of vengeance.

_Crack_.

Regardless, on Tatooine, to be punished as a _retha_ -slave was to be considered ungrateful. _An easy job_ , it was called. Already Luké could hear the whispers from those around her. _Stupid girl_ , was the popular one. _Now she’ll have it hard_.

But to those in the _retha_ , a whipping was a blessing. Nobody wanted a scarred body in their bed.

There was a phantom burn in her back as the whip shot across the plaza again. The sensation trailed down her skin like a blistering caress, causing sweat to follow in its path. She clenched her hands, her right glove creaking from the strength of her prosthetic.

Luké watched as the girl’s body fell limp against the post. Her chains clattered loudly. The sensation disappeared.

There was a beat of hushed silence before Madame Boj’wani spoke. Her face was dewed with sweat and some of her white dress was now transparent. Most of the outer Galaxy — or that of which Luké had seen — was modest in nature, and it seemed her meager four years in the Rebellion had overwritten that of which was forced upon her as a small child. The sight of the woman’s bare body underneath her thin dress was enough to incite a small shock.

“Any takers?” Her heavily accented Basic held a hint of amusement as she looked around. Her hands casually wrung Weequay blood from the whip’s tail. Whispers returned like a sandstorm as they mocked the slave girl for her stupidity.

In another life, Luké had fulfilled the demand of the Moons — to seize liberty in the form of death, to right the smudge she had wrought on her family name. Skywalker had been a slave name, as old as the tales of _Ekkreth_ , and she was the first Freeborn Daughter of a Freedman. Humiliation would taint her soul no matter how far she ran or how much she lied. It had felt wrong to feel pride in her victory, the way in which the Moons asked her to. 

_You had freed yourself!_ they cried. _Rejoice!_

_I shouldn't have been a slave at all!_ hissed something deep in her soul.

She knew better now. She was no Daughter of the Moons. It was not that of _Amakuuna_ that whispered to her in the nights. Perseverance did not rest easy in her heart. She heard no songs of eternal promises, of retribution and patience, nor the grateful hum of travelers under her feet.

It was not the _night_ sky in which her child-self had gazed up in wonderment at.

A long-suffering wick of indignation ignited once more inside her. She felt power flow through her arms, buzz in her stomach, bunch in her legs. Her scalp felt weightless as the Force rushed into her body. 

_A supernova_ , Teacher had once said. _As bright as your sister_.

She was the first half of a _tatooém_ , the searing thrill of freedom. Her _té_ , Leia, was the second half, the voice of hope. They were blessed under the blinding brightness of her _Jítamé_ ’s — of Shmi Skywalker’s — gods long before Aunt Beru had tried to convince her otherwise. Justice was written into their skin, determination in every hair. The heat of retribution and free-will had always burned in their hearts, in their blood, and was obvious like the fires in their eyes. 

_Amakuuna_ was the promise of reckoning. _Jawoti_ and _Kochu_ were the bringers of it.

Luké almost wished she could speak with Master Yoda again, if only to tell him he was wrong. Anger didn’t lead to the Dark side. She had seen enough evil in those who _weren’t_ Force sensitive (had experienced it firsthand) to know that the Dark side resided in all living things.

She would happily fail this test. And any like it. For before she was a Jedi, or a Rebel, or a soldier, Luké was a Skywalker, a Daughter of the Suns, and she would break every chain she saw.

* * *

 

In one motion, Luké raised her arm with her palm facing the _Depur_ and emitted a concussive Force wave. As distracted as she was by the sheer _pain_ this woman’s image invoked, she somehow managed to scrounge enough focus to create a scrappy Force-push. Her arm recoiled at the sloppy work, and a muscle pinched in her shoulder. The world seemed to warp and ripple in the air like water as it billowed in the trail of the action. Sand, dirt, rocks, and even some small metal scraps were thrown as well.

Madame Boj’wani didn’t even have a chance to register the strange gesture from the tiny black-clothed girl. The Mistress was dead within milliseconds, her head bursting against the side of a wall. The bones in her body audibly _click_ ed as they crumpled against the sandstone.

There was another stunned silence from the small crowd of onlookers. Even on Tatooine, where violence was a way of life, the sight of a much-hated _Depur_ ’s brains suddenly coating a wall was quite shocking.

Luké frowned in the stillness. Why was she still in this vision? She’d obviously failed this Jedi test.

Chaos erupted and the stupor she had stood in vanished. What had once felt like slow-motion was now too fast for her to follow. People were scattering, panicking in their haste to leave the Whipping Square, and were crowding the exiting alleyways.

With sudden clarity, Luké realized two things.

First being: somehow, someway this was not a vision. The bodies shoving past her were real. The spittle as people screamed in her face was real. The choking dust cloud from the stampede was real. Madame Boj’wani — the proprieter of the Pleasure House, _the one she vividly remembered killing as a young teenager_ , now _dead_ ( _yet again!_ ) in the sand instead of a soft, velvet ottoman — was real.

But… Luké stared uncomprehendingly at the splattered remains, arm still outstretched. She had already _died_! Luké had _killed_ her herself! _She had done it_! She had felt the Madame’s blood on her hands and face before! She’d been sick and had nightmares for _weeks_ about it!

What was this? This wasn’t a vision and there was no way this was _real_! 

The second realization Luké made quite literally exploded in front of her. An elderly man, with a collar cinched so tight the wrinkled folds of his neck drooped over it, didn’t have time to scream before his head was blown off his shoulders. 

She screamed in his stead, cringing away from the sight with a stunted lurch. The old man’s body fell to its knees, the shredded arteries in his neck causing blood to gush like water onto the sand. Luké, in her wide-eyed horror, heard a solid _thunk_ as his head landed on the metal awning of a small junk shop.

Another body fell in her periphery, its head also missing. More _thunk_ s, more screams, and Luké was harshly shoved. Her neck cracked from the whiplash. Gasping and stumbling, she quickly regained her footing and turned to look at who’d pushed her.

Shock and grief painted across the young man’s aura, as if she couldn’t tell from his face. His disbelief ( _and blame_ ) assaulted her mind, and the panicked _terror_ from the entire city block was overwhelming her senses. His hands balled into fists. He couldn’t be older than fifteen. 

“ _What have you done_?” He screamed in Huttese, his eyes huge and horrified. And then his head was gone, too, exploding instead of decapitating by the transmitter embedded in his neck.

Luké jerked backwards and fell as the gore splattered thickly across her face. A keening noise choked from her throat as she tore her eyes from the smoking wreckage of the boy’s head ( _gods_ it had _been a BOY_! _A kriffing_ CHILD!) and looked across the plaza. Her heart shuddered painfully in her chest before jump-starting wildly, knocking the breath from her lungs.

There were dozens of bodies lying on the stone pavement. The smell of charred meat and burnt hair drifted to her and she promptly heaved.

_This isn’t a vision_! she screamed mentally. _It can’t be_! Tears squeezed from between her eyelids as she threw up everything in her stomach.

Panting, she looked back up at the carnage and vomited again, ropes of bile-tinged saliva trailing from her lips. Blood was caking the sand and running in streams between stone blocks. This was her worst nightmare, a horror that had threatened her peace of mind for over ten years and still plagued her in her dreams. She shakily wiped her mouth with her arm. Something slimy caught her sleeve and slid under her jaw. She drew her arm back and watched a chunk of scalp (its matted hair still attached) peel from her chin and fall in her puddle of vomit.

Cringing, eyes blowing wide, Luké scrambled to her feet and ran as fast as she could through the screaming crowd. There were three alleyways leading out of the Whipping Square, all of them congested with slaves and Masters alike.

("Jutí _? How come they don't just stop being slaves?_ "

_Owen looked down at his niece with an expression of great sadness._ " _Because they don't know anything else_.")

The sound of a transmitter detonating right behind her caused her to flinch. _Don't think about it, just GO_ , she thought, and forced herself forward. An empty doorway caught her eye, the door left ajar by the slumped body of a Rodian woman.

Within seconds of ducking into the glass-blower’s shop, her whole body suddenly jerked. Her muscles spasmed before seizing violently, and she toppled to the floor with a loud crash. Already-precarious fixtures knocked over and spilled their contents all over her back. She didn’t feel the large, stained-glass artworks fall on her, nor the dozens of glass shards embedding themselves into her flesh. Her panicked brain somehow ( _instinctively_ ) rallied the Force to creep under her skin and create a thick enough barrier to mitigate the electricity. Having nowhere to go but outwards, sparks leapt from her exposed skin and sections of her clothes began to smoke.

Her focus swam. Gripping a nearby fixture to pull herself up, her prosthesis twitched and jerked her wrist away from the wire rack. With no balance, Luké stumbled into the stand and knocked over that one, too, raining colorful glass balls onto stone. The cheap wiring of the shelves tore into her skin as she tumbled over it, and it took no more than a few seconds for the electricity to transfer from her body into the metal rack. Luké shakily pulled herself out of the flimsy death trap, gritting her teeth as sensation — _and pain_ — battered her already-weakened body. A particularly sharp and needle-like wire gouged into the side of her breast as she stood.

After regaining her balance, she rushed forward through the art shop without knowing where to go. Glass crunched under her boots and slid off her clothes like droplets. The explosions and screams behind her hadn’t faded, hadn’t stopped _one bit_ , and she could still _smell_ and _feel_ the chunk of flesh underneath her chi—

Something slammed into her back and sent her flying through an exit doorway. Shouting in alarm and pain, the young woman careened into an unfortunate soul’s makeshift home. She used her left hand to push against something hard and sturdy under the tarp, and cried out in pain when glass drove deeper into her palm.

She didn't get a chance to get up. Another blow struck her, this time on her head, and Luké blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mi-ti: wife of father’s brother (aunt)  
> *Amakuuna: the largest moon of Tatooine  
> Títam: brother's daughter (niece)  
> *Depur: Master  
> Retha: whore  
> *Ekkreth: The Trickster  
> Tatooém: twin girls  
> Té: sister  
> Jítamé: grandma on father’s side  
> Jawoti: the white sun of Tatooine  
> Kochu: the red sun of Tatooine  
> Juti: father's brother (uncle)
> 
> *Fialleril’s


End file.
